


A Step from Destruction

by damtoti



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arguing, Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Nationverse, Non-Graphic Violence, RusAme, Russia's pipe, Unresolved Tension, screwed up relationships, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damtoti/pseuds/damtoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After a predictable exchange of insults and punches, America found himself pressed back against the wall, Russia's pipe at his throat."</p><p>Cold War angst, violence, and general douchebaggery with a twist of asphyxiation/breathplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Step from Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from the Kink Meme.

“-merica…? America?”  
  
America’s head jerked up and swiveled to the source of the voice. Having momentarily forgotten his unofficial stance of _Fuck you, Russia_ , America found himself staring straight into those almost-smiling eyes for an unfortunate moment. He averted his gaze as if burned.  
  
When was the last time he had actually _looked_ at Russia? Not just the cold glares directed at his back, or the Soviet newspapers he hoarded just to scribble over his face. This was… actual eye contact. And it made America sick to his stomach.  
  
Russia’s face was deceivingly disarming, always impossible to read; the faint concern he showed couldn’t be anything more than falsified formality. But still, that wasn’t the expression appropriate for a criminal. Someone like Russia didn’t deserve to shrug his shoulders like all the shit he caused was nothing. Russia was the bad guy, unlike himself.  
  
Okay, sure… maybe even America had come across a few hitches of his own here and there, but that was totally Russia’s fault! He was only responding to Russia’s jibes, and maybe a few people got caught here and there, but… it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it! And it made him feel terrible. It was Russia’s fault, but he still felt remorse **—** and that was what differentiated the two of them.  
  
His mental argument was interrupted by the sound of Russia’s hand slapping the table. “America, have I lost you again?”  
  
Smiling, as mockingly oblivious as always. The bastard knew what he was doing! America dug his pen into the table so hard that the tip snapped. “No.”  
  
“Oh good, so you have returned to the world of the living.” Russia beamed. “Perhaps now you can add in your input.”  
  
Huh?  
  
Russia’s mouth twitched, not much of a smile. America flushed; maybe he shouldn’t have said that aloud. “I’m waiting for you response,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.  
  
“Uh…” Shit. What had Russia been talking about again? “Could you repeat the last thing to me?”  
  
There was a long pause. Russia sighed and propped his head onto folded hands. “So you aren’t listening.” He smiled blithely at him. “Is the topic of discussion not interesting enough for you? Not enough action **—** _violence **—**_ to keep you engaged?”  
  
The accusation stung. There was no fucking doubt that it mattered to him. That’s why America should be out there _doing something_. Sitting here and talking it out with Russia wasn’t going to resolve anything. Obviously that bastard wouldn’t budge his position despite his pretense at diplomacy. Then they would just stay at a standstill forever and nothing would be fixed.  
  
“I’ll listen when something useful spews from your mouth of lies,” America spat out.  
  
“I believe it takes a liar to know one,” Russia said. As always, there was little trace of emotion **—** but by now America could pick up the slight strain to his smile.  
  
But it didn’t offer him much satisfaction. Russia always bore more resemblance to the exasperated parent, which in turn marked America as the unruly child. And he was fed up with people using his age against him. He was a superpower, for fuck’s sake. If everyone wanted him to act all grown up, then they should stop patronizing him and treat him like the hero he was.  
  
America rolled his eyes.  
  
“What is distracting you today?” When America proceeded to pretend he didn’t exist, Russia continued, “If you feel tired, then it would be no trouble to simply postpone our little chat.”  
  
“No thanks.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
America released his breath through his teeth. “ _Yes_. Just go on!”  
  
“It would be useless if you refuse to do you part. There’s no need to feel embarrassed. If you are not in a good mood, we can continue tomorrow. Most of us have come to expect such _childishness_ from you.”  
  
There! There it was! The same insult, just as predictable as always. _Childish_.  
  
No matter what he said or did, Russia refused to take him seriously. America was tired of being played around by him. There was no way he was going to put up with his shit anymore.  
  
“Dammit, are you fucking dense? I said I’m fine, you goddamn son of a bitch!”  
  
Russia’s eyes widened and his hand flew to his mouth **—** surprise, or maybe just covering up a giggle. This was what he _always_ did **—** act like a total dick, then shake his head and tsk softly when America lashed back.  
  
“Excuse me?” If anything, Russia’s smile spread even wider, emptier, “Surely that is not the best choice of language, considering our… situation. We’re here to _resolve_ things, are we not?”  
  
A dark, mirthless laugh tore from America’s throat. “You know, you’re real lucky security was thorough in checking for concealed weapons, even from me. Cause if I had my gun right now you’d be so dead…”  
  
Russia burst into giggles. “Threatening me with your gun? How very like you.”  
  
“You think that’s funny?”  
  
“I am not laughing at the prospect of you blowing off my head, oh no! I find it amusing how dependent you are on your toys **—** all your threats only backed up only by guns, tanks and lethal weapons. It is very easy to appear powerful when something else is doing it for you, hm?”  
  
America shot to his feet. “Fuck you!”  
  
Russia raised his eyebrows. “What do you plan on doing now? If you’re upset then throwing a tantrum is hardly the way to deal with it.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking screw with me like I’m the crazy one. You’ve obviously been trying to piss me off this entire time, so don’t you goddamn dare pretend you don’t know what’s going on!”  
  
Russia only looked increasingly amused. “Sit down, America.” But America was already shedding off his coat, tossing it aside as stormed around the table. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re behaving like a child. We both know you would not dare to **—** ”  
  
America’s fist collided with the side of his jaw with a cracking snap. Russia **—** untouchable, impenetrable, self-assured _Russia_ **—** grunted in shock.  
  
America took a step back. Silence screamed in his ears. Despite his previous determination, the aftermath of what had seemed like a great idea in his fury-addled head now left him stunned.  
  
Russia’s gloved hand ghosted over his mouth, coming back tinged with red.  
  
Oh shit, if he hurt Russia… This was bad, this was really bad. Everything was already complicated enough as it was. And now this **—** this was open assault!  
  
Maybe he could try to joke it off. He leaned forward give Russia a playful punch to the shoulder. “Haha, what’s wrong? Did it really hurt that bad?” America laughed shakily, but trailed off. Russia was rising to his feet, knees wobbling, face obscured. “Come on, i-if that’s enough to take you down…”  
  
His eyes darted to the door, but as soon as they did there was a burst of movement from before him. America turned back just in time to see something shining metal. Then he felt a blinding surge of pain.  
  
“Ungh!”  
  
The floor swept out from under his feet and the back of his head hit the floor, hard.  
  
He flailed on his back, trying to get a sense of direction **—** all he saw was white. The haze cleared enough for him to distinguish a dark figure looming over him. America snarled but the sound came out higher, more breathless than he liked.  
  
“You brought your fucking pipe in here!”  
  
“Not so ‘thorough security’ after all, hm?”  
  
“Fuck… _Fuck you_.”  
  
He cringed as he waited for the second blow, but instead he heard the pipe rattling against the floor. A flicker of hope came only to be shattered when Russia’s weight came down over him and forced him back to the ground.  
  
“Do you have any idea what a disgusting child you can be?” Russia sneered. His face was too close, too vividly… hollow **—** because even now, despite the icy edge to his tone, Russia was _smiling_. And the fact that he was smiling was terrifying but it was also infuriating. Without thinking America aimed a glob of spit right at the center of his forehead.  
  
The smile froze, and, for a flickering moment, disappeared. But America didn’t have time to savor the momentary look of fury because Russia didn’t waste time wiping his face.  
  
America’s head was slammed into the floor tiles. “Nghh!”  
  
“Was that worth it?” Russia hissed.  
  
America ran his tongue over his gums, judging the damage by the metallic tang of blood. Nothing bad, but his head was throbbing like the inside of a drum. “Sorta,” he smirked. “Been wanting to do that for a while, but it’s not quite out of my system yet-”  
  
He aimed his fist again, fully expecting and unsurprised when Russia caught his wrist and blocked the blow. Russia was an idiot for falling for such a simple distraction.  
  
Taking the opportunity, America wrapped his leg around Russia’s back, grabbed his arm, and used the momentum to flip their positions. Immediately he caught Russia’s wrists, folded them over his head for a better hold.  
  
“You’re gonna regret attacking me,” America growled.  
  
Just for good measure (and to give the bastard a taste of his own medicine), he bashed Russia’s head repeatedly into the floor until he could picture the larger nation’s brain rattling in his skull.  
  
Russia sputtered and coughed the blood from his mouth. After a moment to catch his breath, he rasped, “If I remember correctly, America, you were the one to initiate this.”  
  
“As if you didn’t want me to.”  
  
“Hmm, perhaps you aren’t wrong.”  
  
With a sharp jerk Russia shoved him off his chest and to the side. Before America could stop him, his fingers closed around his pipe, drawing it to him as he rose from the ground.  
  
America scrambled back on the floor. It wasn’t that he was intimidated, it was just… better to play it safe. “So much for not a man on man fist fight, huh?” he yelped.  
  
“I’m sorry, you are beginning to exhaust my patience. Perhaps another day.”  
  
America rolled out of the way as the pipe arced towards him. His heart thundered in his chest. He managed to dodge the next swing, then struggled to his feet. He needed to get around Russia where he could at least find a position to directly confront attack. There was no fucking way he was going to run.  
  
Russia must have noticed the change in his attitude because his eyebrows shot up. “Wow, aren’t you brave?” he cooed.  
  
The next swing came at a different angle then he expected, whipping his shoulder. America bit back his pained cry and lunged at his opponent.  
  
Too late, he realized his mistake. The sudden footstep back had left him cornered against the wall by Russia, a bookshelf obstructing his escape. Russia closed in, his eyes sparkling as he beat the pipe against his palm.  
  
“Fuck,” America thought aloud.  
  
“That sounds about right.”  
  
Russia rushed in at the same time that he darted to the side, but having anticipated the movement, Russia seized him by the waist and threw him back. America thudded against the wall. There wasn’t a second of contemplation; his only option was to fight.  
  
He lurched forward with the snarl of a cornered animal.  
  
Before he could make it Russia’s pipe struck him just under the throat. The impact had him hacking and stumbling back, but the pressure didn’t disappear. America found himself pressed back against the wall, forced to either remain where he was or choke.  
  
Judging by his parted lips and quick breaths, Russia had also acted on instinct. But the uncertainty was quickly brushed from his face. Russia’s smile grew as he increased the pressure, pressing America tight in his corner.  
  
America wheezed for breath, kicking, struggling like a trapped animal, fighting against the trap even when it intensified the pain. He tried to cry out angrily, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.  
  
“What are you going to do now, America? You are a lot more tolerable like this, when the noises you make are of pain. Rather than the usual jargon that spills from your unsophisticated mouth.”  
  
The ground seemed to be sinking. He couldn’t reach the floor; his toes were wobbling for balance, and he couldn’t stop the choking noises from tearing out of his throat as he gasped into Russia’s face **—** now eye level with his.  
  
The insults he wanted to say echoed in the back of his mind, but the lack of oxygen was the only thought pounding against his mind. His head felt like it was going to explode, and, shit **—** was Russia trying to kill him? America clawed everywhere his fingers could reach, Russia, his arms, and then desperately at the metal cutting off his air supply.  
  
In response, Russia stretched mercilessly upwards until the ground vanished under him, and his full weight was straining against his neck. There, America dangled like a limp doll, the metal bar digging into his jaw. His kicks were slow, uncoordinated, like moving underwater.  
  
“Americaaa,” Russia’s voice echoed in the distance. “Are you dozing off again? You’ll never learn anything that way.”  
  
He wanted to shout, kick, fight, but instead his head slumped forward. Everything was spinning.  
  
“This is hardly what I would call a struggle.”  
  
America attempted to bark a protest, but the breath seized in his throat and he ended up retching violently. His world rattled as Russia’s body shook with laughter.  
  
“Oh, you needn’t strain yourself. This is getting boring.”  
  
And just like that, Russia pulled away. America’s feet didn’t drop to the floor like they should have; they gave way under his falling weight, and he ended up collapsing to the floor.  
  
Thank god, it was over. He just needed to catch his breath, then Russia would be sorry.  
  
But right now, his stomach felt sick from swallowing his own blood, and his vision was slightly fuzzy. He needed a second to rest his eyes. Just a brief moment.  
  
America was aware of Russia only through the clipped sounds made by his boots moving away. Then they stopped.  
  
With a groan, America opened his eyes. Was there more? He found Russia immediately, standing in the center of his line of sight. He wasn’t leaving yet. The tiny smile on his face wasn’t right; it was like Russia was studying him.  
  
“What?” he snapped, hating how feeble his voice sounded.  
  
Russia twirled his pipe and leaned over it like a cane. The clank of metal against floor was enough to make America’s stomach lurch. He felt sick at the way Russia’s eyes widened in veiled delight.  
  
“Until next time, correct, America? And for now, I will report to our superiors that this meeting has been a failure. You are free to report what you like.” Russia paused for a moment, leaning against his pipe as he looked him over. “I doubt you will learn, not for a long time. But it’s alright. These games amuse me.”  
  
America rolled his eyes. “Crazy fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He half-expected Russia to rush forward and beat him into blissful unconsciousness; but instead, the asshole threw his head back and laughed.  
  
“You really are _fun_ , America.” Russia brushed a tear from his eye. “Terribly so. It’s such a shame that amusing quality of yours will eventually bring your downfall.”  
  
Without waiting for America’s next retort, Russia stormed out. The door slammed shut behind him.  
  
America snorted. Bullshit.  
  
Rather than regret **—** knowing the tirade that his boss would sure to deliver **—** the last thought that passed through America’s mind was the promise that as soon as he could stand, he’d be sure to return the favor to Russia.  
  
Since when had this chaos become their normal?


End file.
